


Nouns

by Vziii



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Mentions of shows/celebrities/games, NaNoWriMo, Slice of Life, Teenager
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-11 08:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 101
Words: 20,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vziii/pseuds/Vziii
Summary: One thing's for sure, I can't for the life of me write well in a traditional novel style.I guess I'll have to express my opinions of where I stand in a different way.[Note: There will be intentional mentions of real people. If you are one of these people and you wish to have it removed, please let me know.]





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my 2017 NaNoWriMo project, and it's definitely not the best writing I've done. Heck, I even lowered my word goal from 50,000 to 20,000. I tried aiming for a sort of memoir to a 15-year-old me who had a bit of a wild ride during the last couple months. Feedback and comments are very much appreciated, and I hope you enjoy Nouns!

Everyone at lunch is talking about some mainstream media franchise again.

Fucking… new Marvel movie or some shit.

Actually wait, no. They’re not even that invested in entertainment’s content to chat about superhero characters. For all I know, they’re conversing on the next fresh fruits of gossip, coming from inside the school or the Hollywood industry.

Look, I respect them and their decisions, but really, they could use a piece of something that’s not made from the sweaty labor of starved models and journalists who’ve reached the bottom of the barrel and had to make fake headlines from very little resources.

Basically, most of my schoolmates are stale as shit in their media tastes.

At least, they are if they aren’t on my electronic devices.

… I’m sorry. That was too harsh.

Truth is, I know some of the popular chicks and sporty guys. They’re actually quite nice and most of them make great project teammates.

And, well, I’m no better off than them, except I think I know better than to open up about how I’ve found an amount of new friends via a green-haired loud Irishman with a really good falsetto.

… no I don’t.


	2. Frailty, thy name is Tumblr.

I once heard that Tumblr’s weird.

I saw images of meme escalations and fandom obsessions.

14-year-old me was a little confused about why humans behaved that way.

But I delved in anyway.

And, ho boy, it’s been something.

Tumblr, the ‘hellsite’ according to itself and Facebook, sure did suck me in.

But I wouldn’t have asked for things to go a different direction.

Thank Hades for respectful, mediocre fanbases.

I mean, you get accustomed to it, the exaggerated speech and dedications of Tumblr users.

And it's only a matter of time before you forget that there was a reason you thought this place would be too toxic for your tastes.

But you don’t wanna see the Jacksepticeye fandom on Halloween.

And also, the Phandom gets ruined quite a bit for you if you were weak of heart when first walking in. Just a warning. Nothing against the Phandom, it's just that I was very unprepared for the Internet in general.

 


	3. Prologue

Erik Erikson made a name in the psychology field by developing his eight primary stages of a person's life, one being adolescence and struggle of finding identity in being both an individual and an inclusion in a society or two.

Erik Erikson made a name in the psychology field by developing his eight primary stages of a person's life, one being adolescence and struggle of finding identity in being both an individual and an inclusion in a society or two.  
  
I uh... I'm currently in that category.  
  
And I think I'm taking my sweet time finding the balance between fitting in and fully conforming to something.  
  
Guess how many years it took for me to say that: maybe two or three, but it was worth it.

Oh, nice to meet you! I'm just another growing teenager of good ol' 2017, nothing that big around here.  
  
I don't really trust you enough to tell you my name yet, but, you know, warm up to me a little, maybe show that you've got similar interests to me, and I'll get close to you via chatter about those.  
  
Show you're a nice person who won't purposefully discriminate anybody, and I'll name you a good person in my book.

In the end, flies prefer honey to vinegar, right?

... yeah, that's a good thing to relate me to: a tiny fickle fly.

 


	4. Fandom, the Deep Hole

For quite the time, I figured that if I was a fan of something, I’d have to hide it.

Or at least, that was the subconscious message I got from primary school.

I had no right to offend the screaming girls I saw on live videos of popular musicians on stage.

Hell, I couldn't question them. Why would I anyway?

I forgot precisely how it all began and escalated, but when a friend brought me to the not-so-secret sides of the Internet, I got so accustomed to them swiftly to get floored.

It was probably Percy Jackson. I mean, I tried getting into MLP, but I remember reading Riordan's works more so watching the Hasbro show. It was made to sell kids' toys, anyways. Not that it's a bad show, but I kinda wanted to just bring that up.

Oh, yeah. Then the friend who had me into the PJO series showed me fan-works for it online. Then she introduced me to a handful of YouTubers.

The ball rolled from there, I suppose.

Then I found fandoms on my own, sometimes sharing them with her. Then she had to move and uh... I mean, we still keep in touch, but you know. School. 

The fandom-finding became more individual then.

I found more friends on my own that way.

It seemed we all fell down stupid, small, pointless rabbit holes and found each other, mad and loving to be so.

It was fortunate that unlike multiplayer hijinks and games, we wouldn’t have to divide into opposing time and get at each other's’ throats.


	5. I Found Friends

I first found the gaming platforms through the Annoying Orange...

... I hate it now.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure DaneBoe is a really nice guy, it's just that I wonder what would've happened if I found fandoms with a different path.

What would have happened if I hadn't jumped from consistent binges on Annoying Orange videos to consistent binges on Smosh videos?

Would it be better if I had skipped iHasCupquake and SkyDoesMinecraft's channels and found console games first?

Either way, this is where I've landed: deep in the Game Grumps fan-bases.

Thing is, I used to be a fandom-hopper. Grumps is probably the first fandom I really invested in. 

I can see why Mark and Jack and so many others found them a great let's-play name.

I can see why many of their fans came to be such kind and creative people.


	6. About Three Years Ago

Welcome to Wattpad!

Here’s a recommended book!

And that’s how I found myself exploring what certain fans of mainstream animated movies did with their time.

And how I ended up shipping Elsa with Jack Frost.

… it made sense when I was deep in the ship. Now it just seems weird.

The age gap between her and me is about four years.

Gee, how am I gonna see myself after I graduate?


	7. What I Am (or This Needs a Better Title)

I am a consumer.  
I am a part of a youth demographic.  
I am a customer of independent entertainment media.  
I am a rebel who didn't fawn over attractive males and eat Hollywood’s toxic thoughts.

I am a consumer.  
I will learn and borrow knowledge.  
I will use quotes from anything precious I could get on.  
I will share what I've seen with others, for education or simply for quick joys.

I am a consumer, who has power to create.  
I have inherited inspiration and ideas that thousands of others share.  
I have power to show what I got, even if it’s already been made before.  
I have platforms to display my works and encourage those who do the same.

I am a consumer, not a slave.


	8. What School Didn't Tell Me

One of our schoolmates was in some sort of girl group, singing Chinese sing-along tunes with the karaoke text on the video.

And that was as close as they got to the topic of media.

Well, it's not like they even bothered to try teaching us against the 'cruel hands of electronic entertainment.'

The furthest they got was advising us against watching TV and playing video games over completing the pile of homework that never seemed to fully deplete, and gee, how effective that advice was.

Now look at me: online for almost half the day and I'm so dang productive.

...most of the time.

I tried looking the girl group up and I couldn't find them.

I wonder how they're holding up in secondary school back there, if their fame fell apart.


	9. I think Arin would hate me.

> [to Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword (2011)] "You're like a spoiled rich kid who gets everything bought for you your entire life and then when it comes to making it on your own, you can't take it! You expect everyone to love you, because you are who you are: part of the 'illustrious Zelda Lineage.' Nothing could possibly be wrong with you! You look just like a Zelda, but you're not one. You're a pampered doughy snob wearing nice clothes, expecting to graduate scot-free because you're daddy's an alum(ni). Why would YOU need to improve? Why would YOu need to get any better? Everyone just agrees with your shitty ideas because you're a Zelda!"
> 
> Arin Hanson, Sequelitis - Zelda: A Link to the Past vs. Ocarina of Time

 

...

...

... I'm gonna go.


	10. Hopped on the Bandwagon

Everyone loves Forrest Gump.

They love the heartfelt idiot who prevails through morals and small amounts of money.

The media loves this concept of a loser working their way to fame and fortune.

Wealthy landowners and company bosses turn to villains, their digits in their bank accounts amounting to potential of greed and sadism.

The American Dream began to turn to the global dream after county by country took up modern buildings and capitalistic ideals. 

So who wants to befriend some chink who landed in an international school because of her mom's ex-patriot job?


	11. This Moment

This moment signifies all my mother has done.

This moment separates her story of reaching the top from the others who want such a tale.

This moment in a new office car driven by a local who needs some deodorant.

This moment of the security guard opening up the bone-coloured metal gate of the large white house, literally.

This moment is also where I see the line I’ve ignored again and again.

This moment, to her, means her success.

This moment, to me, is my setting, my background of the tale.

This moment, to me, is my privileged standing in the financials and academics.

This moment just scolds me that I have to make it better than her, farther than she did.

This moment kinda sucks, but it’s where I’ll have to be in order to get somewhere better.

... hopefully.


	12. dicks.txt

I dunno which culture said swearing is the equivalence of maturing, but it definitely wasn't the Asians'.

It was probably Western media culture. Teenage ones at that.

Either way, I grew up in adolescence with a glossary full of dirty jokes and memorized Game grumps monologues, completely by accident.

I am being serious. I go on the Internet one fine day, and YouTube puts Sky Does Minecraft on the homepage, then I let myself go binge watching his stuff and then find his other channel where all the cussing's at...

Basically I went with nature and now my brain now can reference Arin Hanson Battle Kid rages on its own, even if I don't want it too.

... was there a point to this? I forgot.


	13. Welcome Back to School

“Why are you here?”

The first day of school. It’s… it’s here.

All the anticipation of getting my productivity schedule back, of talking my heart out to friends who reassure my character… I sensed that at least one thing was gonna go wrong today.

It was more of a guess than an instinct. After all, I couldn’t say that any day in my life was going to be perfect, just a little better than the last.

I just didn’t expect the English class to be where the rising action initiated.

Why are you here?

A fair-skinned man in a button-down beige shirt and a neatly-cut white beard sits upon a single desk, three rows of student chairs with the side-tables forming a rectangle where he makes two gaps at the fourth side, greets us within the English classroom.

He answers the question for us.

The words articulate and yet mush together into a concept or two:

You're here to learn, not to satiate your high school credit.

You're here to improve, not to make your parents proud.

You're here to think, not simply skim over text and summarize it later on.

His words made a Thai advertisement with no story included, only philosophy.

His words ask for a student's response for him to provide a better example.

His words entice a few tears out of me.

If he meant to get a lingering message across, his technique was very effective.

He had still lingered in my mind whilst my legs walk to the next class.

Then it dawns upon me.

Wow.

I have Tumblr for an English teacher.


	14. The House on Yangon Street

The neighbors have a large backyard with a trampoline with a tall netting around it.

They have two daughters with dirty blonde hair and loud pretty laughs.

They have a Labrador in a full body leash accompanying their late afternoon playtimes.

The younger sister was playing on the trampoline, no one with her but the dog wagging its tail with front legs placed on the trampoline circular stand.

The sky was greying but her smile was only bright and big.

Meanwhile, NateWantsToBattle blasts on my phone in the small dark room one floor and a concrete gate away from her.

She's grown up in the Australian Embassy residence her whole life, I can only assume.

Occasionally passing by the window to watch the family have barbecues and play mini-soccer had been a soothing activity.

Other than the rare crying child in the night, they've been blessed and happy for the four years I've been their neighbor.

I know they don't see my family, the house with two dark-haired teenagers, a mother who comes home late, and the third maid in a row.

But I'd prefer it stay that way.

I can only hope they keep finding happiness, that they don't encounter any more suffering or hunger whilst the two children are still growing.

I hope they don't abuse the privilege of growing up rich, or maybe like us, moving into the house of wealth.

I hope the little girl jumping and holding onto the trampoline netting cries less and laughs more as she turns her sister's age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title was inspired by Sandra Cisneros' The House on Mango Street. It's a really good verse novel about a Latina girl in Chicago.


	15. My Name

 

> Justin: "You said that you barely know their names and that is a huge first step. If address somebody by their name, um, Dale Carnegie says that the uh... 'everyone's favorite sound in the English language is the sound of their own name.' That is a stone fact. Learn their name, use it a lot, they're gonna warm up to you."
> 
> Griffin: "Jeffery, how did you get to this concert, Jeffery"
> 
> My Brother, My Brother, and Me: Episode 4

 

My name’s a little too long.

Not to mention I kinda have two different names.

My Chinese name… ugh. That’s just an alarm that I’ve pissed my dad off.

My English name… it’s too long. Also about every shortening of the name just sounds a little off.

Then why is it when she says my name… she’s not even my crush. Or a squish.

But when she calls me ‘Victoria’ when I get on the Rabbit chat… woah.

Senpai has noticed me.


	16. Holy Shit, I'm In High School and a Lot Older than I Initially Thought: A bunch of short anecdotes

  * One of my 11th grade friends shared his tale of making out with a girl for 14 hours whilst he uses makeup to hide his neck hickey (he claimed there was another down under, you get what I mean). Her name was Victoria, and the reason the Victoria listening to him wasn’t claimed was because I’m like a sister to him and that would be incest. I actually really like that he sees me as that close of a friend, because honestly, romance is overrated in my mind.  

  * My squish went on about how her dance group partners outed her crush on one of the guys in the group, revealing that he likes her, too. I thought I would’ve freaked the fuck out but… I’m happy for her. Her best friend (my wingman/wingwoman/wing-person) was kinda worried I’d go berserk, too, but at least it’ll end happy. Either way, my feelings of her are strongly platonic and probably gonna remain that way for a while. I ain’t complaining.  

  * I’m fawning over a freaking indie band. To be fair, their members consist of a tall paintbrush in blue spandex and a murderous ninja who are currently accompanied with four robot-esque Canadians in their concerts. But then again, I also listen to Melanie Martinez, Halsey, Troye Sivan, and Raleigh Ritchie, so I guess I’m not off the hook either way, and I’m pretty sure having capacity to scream for a guy you don’t personally know is kinda where the line is drawn, and I have a pretty big non-romantic (haven't figured out what it is) attraction to a guy in a pink Sailor Moon shirt and his beautiful gothic wife.  

  * I know too many dick jokes to be called innocent. Also it’s kinda odd that I have more dick jokes in my inventory in contrast to how many jokes I know about my own genitals. Just saying. Is it a sexism thing? Is misogyny involved?  

  * I can’t for the love of any god or my own good not get distracted from the ‘large’ pile of homework that’s due tomorrow. Putting Grumps as background audio doesn’t help out that much (too many good jokes to listen to) but at least it makes me feel accompanied when I’m on my own in my room. Besides, I love hearing their laughs. It’s kinda therapeutic.  

  * I may have ‘sneaked out’ with friends, and by that, I mean I went to the Pizza Hut nearby school after helping a friend out with her short film without asking my mom beforehand. Fun fact, Pizza Hut is kinda regarded as kinda fancy considering Myanmar doesn’t get much international food chains much, and my international friends trust Pizza Hut more than the local companies.  

  * Wait, my classmates drink? Like… someone started drinking since eighth grade? Like, they actually went to a bar? And got back home alive? And are still themselves?  

  * I get bad grades, and not beat myself up about it as much? Like, I know I can improve, but I’m not crying over the fact I didn’t properly cite things in my essay. I’m pretty sure the younger me would’ve had a fit about this. Also, fuck you, Malaysian public school, academics are not my defining factor! I can still be a good and functioning human being with a C in history!  

  * I’m losing friends to K-Pop. Can’t blame them, though. I mean, they’ve told me why they like the members of the band, and they seem less dramatic than Hollywood shit. I may keep my distance, though. I already have problems balancing anime and YouTube. And schoolwork.




	17. Things Mom Said

The first year, Mom admitted that our local schools were no good.

I agreed with her.

The second year, she said that now I’d have to work twice as hard to stay in the international school.

I agreed with her. And I strived to be better.

The third year, she said I have matured from the cranky and hot-tempered 11-year-old we both resented.

I agreed with her. And I told her I’m glad I had grown.

The fourth year, Mom said the reason the local teachers were so intimidating was that every time a student would try to challenge them, they’d get a punishment.

I agreed with her. And I agreed that the 藤条 cane sucked ass.

And I learned I had to be more resilient.

The first year, Mom said she was fat and ugly.

I disagreed with her.

The second year, she called me a brat that would continue to disappoint her and her reputation.

I disagreed with her. But I learned to be better.

The third year, she said the reason my cousin was a lesbian was because she only had exposure to girls in her private school, nothing more and nothing less.

I disagreed with her. But I stayed quiet.

The fourth year, she said that if I was to attempt a dating romance with another girl, it would have to be through a girl/girl/boy three-way.

I disagreed with her. But… it was funny.

But not for long, though.


	18. Sheltered

Everything gets louder after reading fan-fiction.

The flick of the light switches is loud, the whirrs of the outside are loud, the taps of my phone keyboard are loud.

Silence… that's the frenemy. I can’t tell whether it's what I want or what I fight. The loudness of everything, even the sounds I make when I shift my position a little, don't help. I can't tell if I should absorb the silence in the room or drown out the fuzzy noise in my head. The battle prevents me from opening up a video to feel some sort of company.

And when the rain starts pouring, that shit’s gonna break the atmosphere real hard.

But it ends the debate of whether I need constant noise in my life. The affirmative side of the table won this round.

And the lights… they're kinda a little bright at first.

But my eyes adjust to what was already there. And they highly appreciate that it's. it dark at the moment. And holy hell, they love the orange glow of the street lamp outside.

My eyes and soul love how the window is covered by droplets makes a sparkling effect to the image. The warm shade of colour bounces off leaves of plants and the droplets to make a drastic contrast to the dark purple sky, the nearby trees covering the lamppost making faint shadows in front of me.

I see the concrete pavement the lamppost was planted for and I see how well the orange light complements the silence of 11 pm. The emptiness of the road outside the residential area makes the situation of there-are-bad-people-out-there-who-kidnap-children almost nonexistent and obsolete. The narrow street, with its comforting spotlights for the late-night show, whispered out its temptations of how it's a place for the brave and curious, the adventurous lone rangers in want of a calming moment.

Then the whirring of a machine I can't locate snaps me back to the realization that I am under a roof, that I'm sitting on a bed with the almost-silence of a house. I'm aware that I'm untouched yet soothed by the softening drizzle of the outside, staring at an outside streetlight’s effect for about seven minutes to now have my mind quieter and sleepier. I’m aware that I’m not in the best shape to feel raindrops sink into my scalp and walking, uncovered feet.

And I think that yeah, tonight's a good night to stay inside.

Also, no more reading fan fiction right before bed. Goddammit, I vowed to not do it again but I did.


	19. To Cheesy High School Romance Novels

Dear Capitalistic-Franchise-That-Influences-Young-People-That-Romance-Fixes-Everything-When-In-Reality-That's-Only-A-Degrading-Message-Because-Dating-Isn't-The-Only-Way-To-Feel-Validated:

I wonder why it is you have so many authors on your side.

I mean, most of them don't even get their names known recently.

I can’t tell whether you have them write stories of teenage sweethearts and quarrels in the name of their horrific experiences or for your satisfaction of income.

I know you aim for middle school students who're freaked out about growing up and thus try to accustom to the popular things of the month, but come on. You're getting worse and worse in quality and even they've started to notice it.

But I appreciate that you serve as a PSA or two, if that was your intention.

If not, well, I hope you like the new label 21st Century audiences passed you.

Thanks for teaching me that getting engaged with risque partners and stressful friendships wasn’t the way to go.

Thanks for showing the examples of a typically unhealthy or abusive relationship as for us to avoid going down such paths.

And for the writers who have and are pursuing publishing stories of realistic relationships and romances, thank you ever so much.

You guys may just be making a gene all on your own, and I'll be so glad if that's the case.

Because really, I have a hard time associating your works close to these poor excuses of literature.

And so, Cheesy High School Romance Novels, you can say I appreciate you as much as I appreciate a rowdy young child throwing plates on the ground.

Yeah. I'll treat you as a spoiled little kid as much as I want until you either improve yourself or go to your room.

So maybe tone it down with the ‘this-handsome-guy-means-the-whole-world’ trope, thanks?

\- Signed, some salty 15-year-old demi-romantic teenage girl


	20. At least I got 'free' Korean dinner.

The walls are nostalgic marble and mellow in colour palette.

What's new in this hotel is that the bathroom floor turns black and rougher in texture when you walk in.

Then again, it's nothing to complain about.

I can't exactly be picky about the place I can hide.

This happens probably about every two months, I believe.

Mom's customers and colleagues happen to be free and in Yangon, and thus they make reservations to dine and discuss in an exquisite restaurant.

Sometimes they're a separate establishment or in a hotel, but whenever these happen, Mom typically invites us over to join.

There were times I declined, but for the most part I follow my sister's choice and come along, though I don't exactly remember my reasoning for either side.

For the most part, the adults talk whilst the kids stay quiet until addressed.

Is that how the grown-up table in Thanksgiving meals work?

I remember the past hour or so to be the General addressing Sis' boyfriend's Dad's career, mostly because Mommy couldn't help but bring it up with her around.

I recall hem discussing business as usual, through an employee's inability to compromise with someone in the offices.

I sense myself begin to be a decoration to the table to show how well my mother is as a parent.

But I think I may be disappointing her.

Just like the last times, I'm dead silent and possibly moody.

The food was the only thing that would chance the course of me and the dinner's setting.

I the food isn't here yet, and neither's my proof of me being an actually good daughter.

I know I'll have to back in the reserved room, at the dinner table with the doctors and businesspeople.

I'll have to sit next to the elder and more attractive sister who's looking into the medical field for college.

So if they ask, again, I'll tell them that I'd like to major in psychology.

And that's… that's actually true.

Then I'll keep quiet again, even when I'm chewing.

Sis is calling me.

Time to go.


	21. 不用紧，我加了翻译。 (Don’t worry, I’ve added a translation.)

老师，为什么

一种漂亮的语言

吓我到死了？

 

他们会问我

如果我是不是从

美国或英国。

 

是太好笑了！

我可能会去英国

当您们哭着。

 

Teacher, why must you

Use a beautiful language

To scar me for life?

 

They’ll always ask me

If I’m an American

Instead of local.

 

You know, that’s funny.

I can live with the British

While you all suffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it funny how haikus originated in Japan and I wrote this one in Chinese, the language Japan first used since it was associated with China in the country's early years?


	22. May I call myself a writer?

One thing's for sure: I can't for the life of me nail down the traditional novel style.

I can do school essays, sure, but even those take a while to figure out. And besides, essays have a template and for creative writing, sometimes I have to make my own. You get what I mean?

I mean, there was that one time I tried writing a novel out of different poem styles, but we don't talk about that. Mostly because I didn't exactly make it public.

So uh... you've heard of NaNoWriMo? That one program where people atempt writing a novel in the entirety of November? Yeah uh... that seems fun, right?

So does fanfic? From what I can tell, those are often times WAY more authentic and original than one of those high school romance novels.

That thing about there being a lot of stale hetero-romantic relationships in Western media? It's true. It's very much true. I pity Asian media outlets that believe that those were the ways to getting business.

Anyways, I'm rambling. You guys read any good fanfic lately?


	23. The Better Ones

He’s awesome at writing, even if he only shows it through fanfiction.

She’s awesome at drawing, even if she only shows it through pencil sketches.

They’re awesome at singing, even if they only show it through cover songs with karaoke accompaniment.

And here I am.

Trying.

Trying at writing, trying at singing, and kinda not even bothering with drawing since all I can draw are probably collages of lines and uneven ellipses.

But still trying.

Trying at showing it, too.


	24. Words Are So Easy To Say

Words are so easy to say.

Brains speak in nouns, adjectives, phonics, words so simple to comprehend and share.

Acting further on from talking and thinking, though. That requires more motion.

Typing the thought down to a post, that needs confidence.

Writing the sentence down to an essay thesis, that needs motivation.

Planning the idea down to improve on something, that needs determination.

Words are so easy to say.

It makes sense they can make or break a habit, a relationship, a person.


	25. Ooh look! Nano's back!

Oh boy it's baaaacckkk......

NaNoWriMo and me... we have a bit of a rough relationship.

So, my past English teacher was quite the advocate of creative writing, so it made sense she taught both middle school Language Arts and the author's circle club. And she was very much an enthusiast when it came to her students' writings.

So when November was near, you bet she got us into NaNoWriMo. We wouldn't have to get to 50,000 words, of course. She let us set our own word-count goals and kept us going with our projects.

Whilst the others went to middle school memoirs and fantasy adventure novels, I uh... see, the first time I tried Nano, well...

... the character expressed herself in poems and kinda... killed herself at the end.

It wasn't uh...

Well, time took a toll after that November of 2016 (and before, jeepers, 2016 was something). The lovely teacher moved schools, the writer's circle turned from ten participants to three, and I began to uh... not think as cynically as I did that month.

So let's say I was to go back and have a nice, long chat with NaNoWriMo again...

We're both going to have to negotiate to get past our odd relationship.


	26. Some Sort of Return

I look back on the chapters and chapters of an abandoned fanfic.

I was hoping to find memories of two best friends who wanted to collaborate on a Percy Jackson/YouTuber project, but instead I only see one fangirl. I only see the persona my friend had poured her being and character upon. I see her perseverance in keeping a daughter of Poseidon alive.

Other than that, in where I hoped to find two souls who loved Percy Jackson and YouTuber personalities, I see scraps. I see ideas that were briefly expanded upon in descriptions and dialogue, I see a writer who wrote drafts for the future and not the present. I thought of that writer and I feel what she felt: an almost-series that came from an OC idea, turned into a chore.

The fangirl continued on to further elaborate the fic with another friend of ours. I drifted away without noticing.

I went on to try my hand at traditional forms of writing: poetry, vignettes, obligatory school essays...

And now... now I know more fic writers.

I've met writers who didn't make their works an assignment, who took less planning and more free-flow soul into their fics.

I've read their beauty, both in typed text and in the parts of persona they'd express within them.

And somehow, they entice me. They entice me to love fanfiction again, put down its stereotype and bad names.

They entice me to come back to fanfiction, just with a new name, from Riordan to Polygrumps.

So I save the dramatic, emotional, noted-for-later paragraphs from the past into a separate document, keeping them in case I want evidence that I haven’t entirely forgotten how to write fanfiction.

Because maybe, just maybe, if I try my hand at fic writing again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I'll go back to the PJO fic again. I dunno.


	27. A Letter to NaNoWriMo 2017

Dear NaNoWriMo 2017:

Hello! Why am I talking to you? You’re not even listening.

Well, I’m here because I wanna tell myself something.

I wanna tell myself that I will try. I will do. I will make and I will have flaws in my creation.

Creation being my novel this year, but I guess you can refer the creation being some symbolic figure of my life or something.

This year, I will be making an attempt at a verse novel, like I did last year, and the plot will revolve around a character writing a short fanfiction with her reason being feeling like she can connect with others out there in the world and in her computer. I know. It sounds a little weird and underwritten, but hey. It’s worth a shot, right?

What I do intend to improve on in this project is having a ‘show, don’t tell’ motif be very prominent compared to last year’s novel, where about every poem was just a ramble of thoughts made to seem reflective but ended up being a little naggy in voice tone. I plan to change that via showcasing pieces of online posts, quotations from various medias, and descriptional pieces. Please be patient with me whilst I transition from one writing style to the other.

Another thing I plan to transition to with this project is a more subliminal message, one that ends off in a happy way. Considering it’s a non-fiction piece this year, there will be no ending via suicide. I’ll probably have a couple chapters concerning self-depreciation, though, because that's what non-fiction me does sometimes. I want to have this novel end in a way that can satisfy the reader, give a positive payoff for all the buildup that will occur throughout the month. After all, I want a happy ending for myself, too.

Thus, my dear NaNoWriMo 2017, please be patient with me as I attempt to make these goals a reality instead of wishes, and any constructive critique and criticism will be highly appreciated.

-Victoria


	28. English Class (or I'm Not Paying Attention to my American Grandpa of an English Teacher)

Here I am, beside a fellow Burmese.

Here I am, sitting across a fellow Malaysian.

Here I am, looking across the class that's being taught by a white-bearded American.

Here I am, hearing my English teacher say no one in this room knows how to be poor except him.

Here I am, noticing how every student here, the five Westerners and fifteen Asians, is listening intently about how schools were for whites years ago.

Here I am, wondering whether this classroom is an evolution from the stuck-up Southern slave-owners of old America, or if we're no better than them.


	29. Fuck You, Good Game™

Fuck you, Good Game Episode Three.

But like, in a good way, you know?

Like, fuck you, Jesse Cox, for excellently making the after-episode segments that make the end of Episode Three so god-damn meta.

Do you even know how much conspiracy theories you’ve made with that last sentence? (Zero, probably.) Someone on the Rabbit chat played the X Files theme because of that.

And I had to leave early, too, because I was watching it in study hall and the bell rang before Sunni replayed the episode for her friend and GIF purposes.

At least I said goodbye right before the chat ended. I didn’t wanna be the one who just went off without a word. Besides, I really liked hearing others’ voices, even if they were saying goodbye. Maybe I’m just emotionally starved of care, or maybe Bri and Fiona looked that cute.

Either way, there were a lot of ‘what the fuck?’s when the episode ended.

Also fuck you, writers of Good Game, for making me ship Sam with Ash at the end of that episode and making that one time they had then feel so loving and sweet. Please, please, please, let it be canon! I’m cool if you don’t make Rylex a thing, since that’d start shit up in Polygrumps and probably hurt Dan and Arin in some manner. I’ve seen the Septiplier drama. I know what encouraging an existing ship can do. But please, since you have chances of making Sam x Ash a thing, please try it, or at least tease it a bit more in further episodes!

And fuck you, Dan Harmon, for once again humorously and expertly inserting real-life issues in your comedic episodes. Do you even know how self aware Sam’s attitude in Episode Three made me? Like, fuck man, you’re making me re-evaluate my life choices.

Just... have you had those same situations before? Where you though pushing yourself to do things and be places was how you could find your worth?

How do you convey that instinct of putting pain on yourself to prove that you're doing something, most of the time pain meaning progress?

What taught you that you let people down when you're not doing something, anything, either finishing a project or talking to someone? 

Like, did you have that voice that you have to be the best at everything you do? 

You have to. Why the hell else would you make this Sam’s motivation?

Like… shit, man…

… Rick and Morty didn’t hurt me this much.

Why is it this episode that...


	30. Bold Words Italicized

I’m spending a lot of time on the Internet.

**_But I have to do better than that._ **

I’m impatiently checking for any new notifications to find cheap and fast thrills.

**_But I have to wait better than that._ **

I’m reading Tumblr posts of how relatable it is to procrastinate, how we screw up in our lives with skipping sleep and society’s conservativeness.

**_But I have to live better than that._ **

I’m finding my friends’ new Magnum Opuses and admiring how they achieve and showcase such skill that I’ll never share with them.

**_But I have to think better than that._ **

I’m reminding myself that everyone specializes in their own personal crafts and I’m included, so maybe I don’t need to be the smartest or liveliest or most talented.

**_But I have to pursue better than that._ **

I’m starting to bring my mind’s constant rebuttals to awareness, that maybe these ‘be better’ instincts aren’t exactly motivating me.

**_But I have to sense better than that._ **

I’m starting to wonder if there are any logical reasons behind the constant need to be better than what’s of my being in the present. Was it my upbringing? Was it the childhood lessons of being the highest ranking possible that were subconsciously taught by my classmates?

**_But I have to reason better than that._ **

Oh fuck, there’s the headache and heartburn again. Where’s the fucking chocolate?

**_But I have to eat better than that._ **


	31. No One's Telling Me the Expectations

No one’s telling me the expectations.

They tell me things will get harder to learn, harder to adapt to.

But they aren’t giving me the specifics.

So my brain sets the bar.

It sets them high, but I can’t see how far I’d have to reach.

So I presume it’s ten feet higher than me.


	32. Sunday the 15th

Would you get off your ass already?

Can't move, can't move.

You didn't even get much done today, you fucking idiot. Laying down at 2 in the afternoon isn't gonna help much.

Head hurts. Body numb. I can't move. I mean, I legitimately can, but I just...

This is what you get for skipping out on your daily exercise requirement, fucking lazy ass. Just because the headache hasn't gone away yet doesn't mean you get to mope around and feel sorry for yourself.

Get off the couch and get on the floor and do at least one damn sit up or something.

Oh, great, now you're just lying on the floor now. Great job. You know how many germs are on that floor? Mommy’s gonna be soooo proud of you is she sees this.

… oh god. Nobody come here. Nobody see this.

Bitch, if you don't want anyone here, you're gonna have to be the one picking yourself up.

Somebody please help.

Better start now.

Trying.

How are you not holding your head up? Are you a fucking baby?

No! I'm a fucking 15-year-old!

If you wanna be a mature young lady, at least get your back straight, pleb.

… pleb? Where'd that come from?

Get! Up!

Oh god, how'd the lungs start hurting? Take deep breaths. Get oxygen back in there. Breathe in longer and breathe out more gently.

Are you fucking kidding me? How are you still not up yet? We got homework due tomorrow, dumbass. Maybe if you hadn't procrastinated that much, this wouldn't be so hard.

We better not have this again. Jesus.


	33. Oh shit, I'm an attention who-

There's so much distance.

There's so much distance between my feet and the bed’s edge.

There's so much distance between me and the door.

There's so much distance between me and the ceiling light.

There's so much distance between me and anyone I trust who could talk to me.

There's so much distance between the topics I can and can't talk to them about.

There's so much distance between what they've accomplished and what I am.

There's so much distance between their worth and mine.

Why would I want to change that status quo if it'll affect them more than me.

Just go to sleep. Try to sleep off this… this bad episode.

Don't bother them. Don't bother your friends at this hour. You have school tomorrow anyway.

It's scary, but hey. Take the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

Maybe then the distances won't be so frightening.


	34. Thoughts Beside the Roadside

It's official: My new English teacher is definitely a lawful evil, a freaking American Grandpa.

Here he goes, telling the class that everything is a figment of the authorities’ creations and will never last long enough to be universally believed in.

Government is distraction and consonance is awesome.

But as much as I want to be this ‘free individual,’ schedules and higher classes are all I know. It's easy to bitch about them, but imagining a life without them…. How would I get by?

I'm pretty sure even my heroes aren't exceptions to this fault. Hell, their whole jobs depend on them staying within rules and regulations. Internet policies, advertising themselves, staying politically correct so their fanbases don’t start civil wars…

They probably really depend on the economies as much as the next guy, but… at least their lives are stable. At least they've already figured out their mottos and aspirations. They post their scoring-free hijinks online without legal or scholarly consequences.

Both my heroes and I aren't the fully liberalized people my English teacher keeps lecturing about. At least that's something we'll have in common.

On the meantime, I'm cool with living illusions of class bells and Arin Clone AUs, anything that doesn't get me into constant and unneeded existential crises.

Last time I had those……. nope. Not again.


	35. Perhaps I don't know myself.

@sunniapplepie reblogged this from @penguinpatrolearmy

@persona-4

> *whispers* just because i like a character does not mean that i approve of their actions

@andythanfiction

> *whispers* Not even if I wrote them.

_You reblogged this._

 

I wanna think that I know who I am.

I like feeling that I know myself and how to manage her.

But when it comes down to it, I need to write what she thinks to make her character clearer.

I like to put myself in some sort of category, some kind of box.

To be fair, I do the same with about everyone I meet.

I think I’m doing better with seeing friends outside of these categories.

I may be improving on judging some friends.

I wonder if I could start doing the same for myself.


	36. High School 'Dance'

Tonight just seems to be about babysitting your sister whilst she spends time in the dimmed room with her boyfriend.

Since neither of you seem to be dancing at his ‘dance.’

Write of how your eardrums are being destroyed by meme ‘music’ and the laser lights are blinding your eyes.

Write of how a bunch of mishandled boys yelling out the lyrics to Thinking Out Loud are dissipating the slow dance.

Write of how the cumulative self-infliction from the week before definitely wasn't helping you enjoy yourself too much tonight.

Write of how you doubt yourself as if you were the fresh new student clueless about what to do to make friends.

Write of how you hoped talking with your friends would make yourself feel better, if you could manage avoiding a breakdown.

Write of how in the end, it seems to be worth it as you watch your friends sway together while you step on beat with your friend, patting her back as she wraps her arms around you in reassuring friendship.

Write of how your hormones have been soothed, so there would be no need to go out and announce your gayness right now.

Write of how making new dance moves with the middle finger in a trio may have been the smartest thing ever invented.

Write of how you've made nice conversations with a new student and found her so much more open than you first judged.

In the end, it kinda boils down to some writing material.


	37. Found Poems: A Series of Me Practicing Poetry #1

**Didn't Know You by Karmin**

 

~~Everyone's got faces no one sees~~

~~Oh, they better~~ **watch out.**

~~Every word you say is made to please.~~

 

~~Well, I guess I didn't know you at all.~~

~~No, no, I guess I didn't know you at all.~~

~~Oh,~~ **before** ~~we fly we have to fall~~

~~I guess~~ **I** ~~didn't know you at all~~

 

~~Like a bird of the prey~~

~~Out of nowhere you came~~

~~Do you always~~ **get you** ~~r way?~~

~~Like a bird of the prey~~

~~Out of~~ **nowhere** ~~you came~~

~~Do you always get your way?~~


	38. Show them what you got.

> Asking a literary giant to respond to the demands of a 24-hour news cycle is a little like asking a dinosaur to ride a bike. Writing and reading novels are activities that take place in opposition to the frantic, thoughtless rush of modern life. They demand a different quality of commitment and concentration, and a longer time scale. Serious novelists do our deep thinking for us, and find ways to communicate big questions within stories so compelling that readers absorb them without having to try.
> 
> \- Alice O’Keeffe, "Why Serious Literary Fiction like Ishiguro's is Vital in Times Like These" from The Guardian

  
No need to be the best.

No need to preach the greatest thoughts in this.

No need to dramatize the tale of a fifteen-year-old’s novel project.

Just show that you can think.


	39. To The Darkness

Hey, dude.

Sorry you get underrated a lot.

You’re kinda worshipped in gothic and emo culture, and I think I know why.

Optimism like light.

Intellectuals like light.

Or rather, they like how light shows them what’s ahead, teaches them of what they want to know.

Light just… shows.

It just blatantly shows others what they want to see, and all of it.

You like hiding.

And I kinda like that.

I like how you keep things in secrecy, because really, being fully honest and open isn’t easy.

And when you and light collaborate, the view and contrast of the subject is stunning.

So I got your back, man. You keep being you.


	40. Why I'm Not Killing Dan and Arin in my Bromeo and Dudeliet piece

Ninth grade was pretty nice. Ninth grade language arts was pretty nice.

I mean, compared to American Grandpa’s class, my other high school English class was a lot more comfortable to be in.

And it made studying Romeo and Juliet kinda fun.

It really changed how I viewed romance, because damn, Romeo and Juliet really portray it in a pretty nice way.

And by ‘nice,’ I mean it made the teenage want for a dangerous, dramatic romance seem very believable, so I guess it was a good choice to have the play in our class agenda.

But I guess I really liked studying it because I know the play was meant to serve as a warning to those like me, to teenagers who want to try being adults and think that having a heterosexual partner would drastically help with that.

Arin and Dan just don't align with that aspect. To me, they're one of the most mature adults I've never met. They're both creators, they both have had their fair share of shit, and quite frankly, they've made me laugh more than my teachers have.

Adding to that, fanfic taught me that there has to be lots of communication and negotiation to have a steady and happy relationship, platonic or not. A happy pair would also need amounts of supporting characters and friends, and Romeo and Juliet weren't lucky enough to have any more than the nurse and friar.

Besides, who wants angst today? Not me, not the reader, and probably not Verona.

So maybe if I haven’t read amounts of angsty fanfiction before Shakespeare’s magnum opus, I would have interpreted Romeo and Juliet in a different way.

But yeah. That’s why I don’t think Daniel Sexbang or Arin Neverbone deserve a complicated tale of woe.

Neither of the three of us would want that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, here it is. http://sweetieships.tumblr.com/post/165897946864/vziii-happy-saturday-have-an-egobang-fic And I felt like I really had to say all this because 1. it's my first legit Polygrumps fanfic and 2. I just love Game Grumps and I really wanted to show one or two of my reasons.
> 
> (Also you may need to log into Tumblr to read it I dunno some weird restriction but I promise you there's nothing dirty in it.)


	41. Don't you just love procrastination?

A Statistician to His Love by Peter Goldsworthy.

Death and What Comes Next by Terry Pratchett.

Maracana by Nelson Leirner.

Paparuda from Romania but arranged by some Suroille guy. Forgot his last name.

From what I remember from regionals and globals, memorizing the art and literature pieces with their creators really helps. The Challenge will ask questions like 'according to this guy's work, what art style or literary device do they use?'

Then there's also compare/contrast like 'imagination : wonder - this art piece : another.' And also which public figure from History or Special Area will relate more to a certain short story.

Man, World Scholars' Cup sometimes.

They always seem to figure out how to make tests worth studying for, other than grades.

But then again, it’s kinda my fault for procrastinating. 

With the Tournament of Champions coming up, you’d think I’d try harder.


	42. What To Improve from Last Year's NaNoWriMo Project

Firstly, the transition from the exposition chapters to the conflict was too abrupt, as it quite immediately went from a neutral and formal tone to “I blame you.” If I had made that cut intentional and more polished, it could’ve worked, but this time it just didn’t. I dunno if I'll make it abrupt again, but yeah. Just cross your fingers I guess?

Also, though I was trying to portray relapses of bad times, my protagonist doesn’t actually have any growth or change to her character.

So this time, I have to push myself to change, hopefully for the better.

In conclusion, I’d call this a stepping stone for experimental writing, which I believe was the goal when I went out of my way to use about every type of poem. The concepts used were definitely pretty bold, but they weren’t executed so well. To be fair, I rushed into this, which is pretty obvious reading these.

… also… I was really over-sharing my personal life with this one. Like, jeez, this shit isn’t ever getting to the public. I don’t wanna out myself and my family THAT fast.


	43. Okay, look, I just feel like The Awakening by Kate Chopin may have been the most draining novel I've had to read for school. Allow me to explain.

Being a feminist female writer in her era was both never considered a possibility or option. 

And so, Chopin decided to write a novel of an Edna Pontellier, a wealthy man's wife in New Orleans who turned aware of her standing in society and attempted to defy it.

But the Western societies of 1899 couldn't fathom its concept, and so she lost her career and the book was banned until decades later.

When people did read it, mixed reviews piled in. 

I'd like to place my opinion on why this novel is one to be known of, but not forced down a high school student's throat without foreword. 

May I start with the negative aspects of the literary piece?

The pacing is too slow that the reader gets bored quickly, and the descriptions of settings and Edna’s internal conflict could use some editing. 

The concepts it tackles keep going back and forth like it’s a lecture and not a showing, which results in a sense of dread that repeated words will be hammered into the reader's brain with every page they turn.

Her use of symbolism, from the sea to the birds, were mostly hinted at so shortly they either turned insignificant after a while or returned out of the blue.

Yet, despite all these faults, this novel’s worth knowing.

It does seem like a first or second draft, but it does introduce a reader to some errors writers can make and thus can see where to improve on.

It took a couple risks, and even if it was a mistake to publish it at her time, Chopin’s work was a step in the right direction.

She knew the message she needed to portray, and she made it consistent. She didn't back down from spreading the word that women are capable of thoughts and having affairs with another, just like men did during the years. 

I wish I could say the same for one of my written works, as then I could say that I was leading up to improving with other aspects and devices of literature.

Thus ends my reasoning of why I both appreciate the novel and wish to purge it from my memory.


	44. Am I Becoming What I Feared?

Write the script.

Help your mom.

Edit her speech so she’ll look good for her boss.

Do the work.

Don’t procrastinate.

Don’t look at your phone.

Don’t get mad at what your sister’s playing.

Don’t think about how you’re helping advertise a company you’re not sure is being sincere.

Don’t talk with anyone online.

Don’t tell anyone about your, not-even-relatable, problems.

Don’t interact with those who don't understand you or your situation.

Don’t open Discord.

Don’t pick up that phone and text a friend.

Don’t get up from the chair.

Don’t even think about stepping away from that work.

Don’t open up a YouTube tab and play some background video.

Don’t look for company as it’ll slow you down.

Don’t hesitate from it, bitch.


	45. To Fame, to Pressure, to Temptation

If you kiss me here,  
Your name will be in the news,  
All you say in print.

Touch me, and you meet  
Friends who've achieved far much more  
Than you thought could be.

And when you see me,  
You’ll seek an aim that’s in reach.  
Take it, and you fall.


	46. I'm starting to despise my writing style for this one.

Write what you want to read, huh?

Well, I guess that'll be a noble thing to do over reading what you want to write.

Since, well, this author is very divided in style.

It seems to alternate between shitposts and heart-wrenching angst.

I should know, I'm it's editor, and it can improve on multiple aspects.

Though, when it writes formal documents and paragraphs, it seems to find its balance between order and freelance thoughts.

As much as I could say that I should stay loyal to a single genre, I know it likes experimenting.

And so, if the publisher one day isn't me, I hope the audience somehow finds originality and beauty in its words.

I hope they'll appreciate their construction of each sentence, the nouns and the verbs it chooses to use.


	47. Oh God, Grandpa, why'd you make us Google search "force-feeding suffragettes?"

Silence the voices.

Stop the images.

Sniff the calmness.

Scratch the words.

Salivate the heartburn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to thee who notices the reference. Pity to thee who searches up "force-feeding suffragettes."


	48. When the Sun Comes Back

The alarm goes off again.

But I take it with joy instead.

I turn off the phone that rang 4:45 a.m. 

After all, they were all calling me from the laptop screen.

They were inviting me to a call of dumb jokes, of laughter over stupidity of ourselves.

They were an inviting crowd, one I began relying on for quite the while since a certain email.

 

Then the time shifts on us, or rather on me.

Their time zone, half a day behind from mine, it gave them chance, more time.

They disconnect one by one, saying their goodbyes from one chat app to another.

And I'm left alone with the 6:15 sunrise, the kind where the sky turns light blue without a ray of orange.

I'm left alone with the homework I planned to do the night before, with the dawn of my obligations as her child.

 

The sound of someone... I need the sound of someone.

I need the sound of kindness, the sound of care, the sound of non-judgement.

I need the sound of someone who understands the want of making time slip by slower, enriched with more fun that work.

I need the sound of a friend, not the mother who innocently asks how my sleep has been, not the sister who passes the mutual cold shoulder.

 


	49. I'm more than That

The voice who whispers where I’ve done wrong, with seduces and regrets and degradation… that isn’t me.

The one who censors my words, patrols the dam of what I can confess and admit… that is me.

This voice who tries to tamper... it's some sort of enigma, hidden citizen I can't recall.

This may be an instinct, a thought manufacturer, some sort of unconsciousness.

This sound of 'must-be-better' echoes from one whisper to a sort of scream.

The voice... will it be willing to leave, or has it grown its roots already? 


	50. The Greatest Pair of Sisters

We met at the debate table.

We were discussing Myanmar’s capability for launching a spacecraft to Mars.

They brought up patriotism and international views on the nation.

We brought up their low financials aids in education.

As with the custom of the decathlon, we were to give feedback to the opposing team as to help them with future debates.

They liked our evidences but thought we needed more polish in speech.

We complimented their confidence in presentation with rebuttals yet found a lack in their backup research.

We shook hands and I caught a glimpse at one of the team member’s Zelda badges on her bag.

And that’s how we became friends.

And I trust her and her sister/teammate more so than I initially expected.

Man, World Scholars Cup, really giving me something new each season.


	51. I Wasn't Born Rich

> "Every human being must have the opportunity to express their talent, energy, and creativity. In a rational world, it cannot be true that the most important act a human performs in their life is being born in the right house."
> 
> -Grandpa

 

The thing is, I wasn't born rich.

I could've remained in my hometown, my home country, and I would've been normal.

But I wouldn't have been in any way wiser, smarter, or close to happiness.

 

Alright, so here's a little geography lesson. Get your notebooks out.

In South East Asia, there's a country called Malaysia. The country's above Indonesia and to the left of the Philippines. It's divided into two parts, West and East Malaysia. West Malaysia, where the capital state and hometown Kuala Lumpur is, can be found at the bit of land that sticks out and the bottom furthest right of where the continent sticks out a little, which is called a peninsula I think. East Malaysia's at the island at the right side of it. It's mostly an Islamic country, but there are a few other races living in there, but we don't talk about THAT.

(Malaysia's racist, so don't be too surprised if there's sensitive talk about Malaysian-Chinese, Malaysian-Indians, Native Orang Asli [as we call them locally)] or even the native Malays. There may be other races, but I'm not too aware of the main three, which are Chinese, Malay, and Indian. Not saying that either race is more superior or submissive than the other, but I'm just addressing that on the table.)

Yeah, that's where I grew up for 11 years. I'll let you know, as a Malaysian-Chinese, my school wasn't government funded and had to be independent, and I'm not saying that's the main reason I remember my education to be shit, but yeah. Just saying.

Then you see there's another bit that sticks out of the bottom of the Asian land chunk? That's India. To the right of it, in the middle of India and where there's that peninsula mentioned before, there's Myanmar, a mainly Buddhist nation that is settling into a democratic government.

My mom got a job there and we flew. Now I'm in an actually good school. It's American, though. And international. And kinda pricey.

You may have heard about Myanmar before in the news with Rohingya mistreatment. I know, but I don't find that publicity of the issue fair on the country. You gotta give them some time to work things out slowly, I mean, the country was closed and run by the military maybe less than ten years ago. Locally, the issue was there years before the country got to international relations, so it honestly is kinda a dead matter to the locals.

But how would I know? I'm not local. I'm not local anywhere! Hell, I forgot a lot of Malay grammar and lingo. I can't even eat spicy shit without heating up a little! I'm a fucking disgrace to any Asian culture!

 

So guess where I actually seem to fit in.

That's right. The Internet. the one place I can hide my nationality and my identity, somewhat. And then I found fandoms. And online friends. Those were nice. They made the Internet worthwhile.

And then I grew up. And then I learned about economic classes. And then I freaked out over my standing in the world. And then I realized I was never gonna fit in anywhere, even with online friends.

Actually, wait. My online friends may be the only ones who'll take me in at this rate. And my schoolmates. Though we're gonna depart from each other eventually because students come and go by the years.

... I wonder if any of my schoolmates had this problem as well.

 

So there we go. That's why fandom means so much for me. Goodnight. Happy Spoilers Day!


	52. Found Poems: A Series of Me Practicing Poetry #2

** Flawless by Burch **

 

~~Shut your ears to what they say.~~

~~They don’t know~~ **you** ~~anyways.~~

 ~~And everything they wanna~~ **shout,**

~~Take it in and spit it out.~~

~~And I’m done,~~

~~Out of~~ **words,**

~~I’m empty 'cause how much it hurts.~~

~~And I’d hope for the best if I had any left.~~

~~The days line up to tear you down.~~

~~I’d be so strong if I knew how~~

**To be** ~~Flawless.~~

 

~~I’ve been dreaming my whole life~~

~~But nothing’s come~~ **true yet**

~~And am I scared of being alone, you bet.~~

~~So this is me Trying to be~~

~~Anything close to Perfect~~

 

~~To the messed up~~

~~To the fed up~~

~~If~~ **you** ~~dread what’s~~

~~Up ahead~~

~~To the ones who~~

~~Feel unloved you~~

~~Need this one truth~~

~~You’re good enough~~

~~To the~~ **lied** ~~to~~

~~If you’ve cried through~~

~~The night til~~

~~The sun came up~~

~~If you’re one of~~

~~The above~~

~~You’re one of us.~~


	53. It couldn't have been real.

It all seems so surreal.

The cooling wind in my face, the greying sky, the schoolmates’ chatter…

… and last night couldn’t have been real.

You didn’t call me weak, you didn’t call me whiny.

You didn’t even say what I thought or felt was wrong.

You said it was alright. I was alright.

You let me cry at you, to you.

You let me call you, let me hear you say I’ll be fine.

You gave me a solution to prevent further pain.

You told me it was normal to want ‘validation.’

Something in the air, or perhaps just in my head, says all that definitely wasn’t real, that it shouldn’t be, that if it was I have to apologize for wasting your time, that I couldn’t have called you, that I’m weak and pathetic and just a bratty attention-whore…

… but I can’t deny that it felt nice.

You’re the reason I slept with a smile on.

You’re the reason hot tears fell with my pride.

You’re the reason the alarm for school didn’t bother me so much.

So even if that call wasn’t real, thank you for giving me that magical moment.

I may not repeat the action, but please know that…

… that for me, last night was so surreal.


	54. Roleplay Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't actually in originally, just so ya know. I wrote it midway putting all the chapters here.

I look away from the laptop screen for one moment, and it crashed upon me like it had many times before:

My happier times are away from Mom, away from Sis, away from anyone but the kind and funny people online.

They're as interesting as an impromptu roleplay session at 11:54 pm on a Wednesday night.

The door of my bedroom... I wonder how I'm to pass through it casually once more after tonight... or today.

Safety of a concrete cube that I didn't have to pay for... perhaps other than my existence of body and high school education.

The thought of me staying in here, this being the tale of me... it's disheartening.

The idea of staying with the nice people online...

Grandpa's phrase of 'you can't choose the present as the future' takes the opportunity to creep inside my mind.

But as long as I have this present, I want to savor it.

I can put down the thoughts of Mom, of school, of sleep... only for now.

What's to take my mind now instead: my next reply in the voice of my puny little character. 


	55. Dude! I think I just came up with the best analogy!

Life is a highway.

So people are sure going to judge you by how your car looks.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, they won't see who's driving or hear what's on your radio.

If you blast your music, that's a different tale, but that would only be a terribly brief introduction to your taste.

Then you get to your destination and get out the driver's seat.

When you're walking down the roads, the judging isn't going to be any milder.

In fact, the passer-byes get more time to look at you whilst you're strolling down the streets.

The car turns to your clothing.

Sometimes, you're the student walking to school, skipping or grumbling on the pavement.

And you face the classes, you face the grades.

And you face the hallways, where not only do they see you each day, but they conspire your whole personality just by how they view you.

So sometime it's best you wear your nerd merch shirts.

Those may be the clothes that stick to you as long as you academic transcripts.

And sometimes you'll have to say hello to them, make them doubt that your clothes are all you'll ever be seen by.

 

Life's a highway, a really long and manipulatively easy drive.


	56. I'm Sorry

I’m sorry to @sunniapplepie, who I probably cling onto like a lost puppy.

I'm sorry to @musicalravencreates, who I'm always trying to get attention from.

I’m sorry to @godofhipsbeefollower, who I haven’t talked with for months despite the continuous posts I reblog from him.

I’m sorry to @voidskelly, who I must have made uncomfortable that one time.

I’m sorry to @aligrump, who I didn’t say enough to when she vented out her troubles.

I’m sorry to @sweetiefiend, who I forced my troubles onto one too many times.

I'm sorry to @yoshidrake_squidkid, who I keep leaving in the silence for a month or two.

I’m sorry to @nivee, who must‘ve had four tough years with me around. And I’m probably the reason your innocent mind got a little bit dirtier.

I’m sorry to @mom, who definitely isn’t having the best fifteen years ever, especially with me attempting to change my attitude.

I’m sorry to @sis, who probably is getting annoyed at me squealing in my room.

I’m sorry to @theworld, that I’m complaining while you’re trying your best.

And I’m sorry to @vziii, ‘cos you’re gonna get fucked.


	57. Kuleshov

> Concatenation [noun; kon-kat-n-ey-shuh n] = a series of interconnected or independent things or events.
> 
> \- Dictionary.com

 

The readers aren’t stupid.

The viewers aren’t idiots.

The audience is wiser than given credit for.

The homosapien  has a habit for piecing two separate things together: puzzle pieces, evidences...

You give them two items, and they can very quickly put them together, almost subconsciously.

Correlation, causation, or neither could be used, but they'll find a way.

You give them footage of a man smiling after an image of a bowl of soup, they assume he's hungry.

Replace the bowl of soup with a young child, they think he's the child's kind father.

So if someone gave them written entries of someone suffering, conflict growing...

They'll find a beacon of hope in the next, and they can assume redemption is near.

 


	58. Letter to the Instinct

Dear 'Must-Be-Best-At-Everything' Instinct:

Listen up, dipshit. I’m only gonna say this once because I hate to bet the naggy bitch that you are.

Okay, so let me get this fact in your head: I acknowledge you. I know you are with me for a reason, and I understand that. Maybe it was from a bad childhood or classmates' infliction, but I doubt you'll wanna go anytime soon. Though the reasons why you stick with me sound quite controversial, I know that it is no use trying to erase you from my mind completely. 

You are my Virgil, my Anxiety in makeup eye-bags, and you believe you are here to help me. I agree with you at a certain degree, but it seems that we are in a constant state of disagreement.

So here’s my Bitcoin on how we solve this, some sort of contribution to fixing up this road-trip agenda we’ve got ourselves into.

To get you introduced, here's a quote from Elizabeth Gilbert’s **Big Magic**. Sorry, I just love this book. I really have to finish it someday. The road trip metaphor is from her, by the way.

"You're allowed to have a seat, and you're allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote. You're not allowed to touch the road maps; you're not allowed to suggest detours; you're not allowed to fiddle with the temperature. But above all else... you are absolutely forbidden to drive." -pg 25

I understand you got on, and that sometimes, you have really valid arguments. But here's the thing: I control this van. I know your friends Logic, Humor, Creativity, and Empathy are quite the crowd, and that for the most part I agree with them more I do you, but they are under the same conditions. 

Sometimes I may ask them to take my place at the wheel, and at some point, maybe I'll let you drive. But all of you are passengers. I may pick more up, but in the end, I'm the one who owns the van, and if you guys mess with it without my consent, you're paying for gas. Or a paint-job.

... get your mind out the gutter.

But above all else, please stay. No matter how much we chide you or whisper of your wrongdoings behind your back, we need you. I need you. I am still young and an incomplete work on canvas. I could really use all the help I can get, and as far as I know, you’re the one preventing me from being a spoiled brat who’ll use trust and money as water, and I’m pretty sure I also have to be a little stingy with my water usage as well.

So please be patient with me, and I’ll do my best to be patient with you. Maybe it’ll take a few months to finally have ourselves at a standstill, or a few years, or nine seasons. But I will try. So please try with me.

-Victoria 


	59. This is yet another hurricane.

I complained my way out.

No writings, no speeches, nothing that would be remarkable of a ten-year-old.

Just cries, whines, and almost-lies.

The only reason I was pardoned was my mom.

 

Mom, who worked her ass off to get a high-end job primarily for the sake of her children.

She had the opportunity to work away from home, away from an economy that inevitably would crash.

And she passed that to me.

Me, the fucking good-for-nothing who’ll keep half-assing her way through plagiarized novels and Chinese homework.

Once we boarded that plane for Myanmar, the brat deemed itself a human.

Foolish mistake that was.

But, oh dear, if we were still living back there, you’d think yourself so high and worthy compared to your classmates.

…. Fine, Mom, you’ve won again.

Yet, oh my, complaining is just so relatable, isn’t it?

Is that why I keep liking posts of self-depreciation and grunting at an essay assignment?

But once I landed in this country, my validation to be a lazy, emotional, ‘average’ human was revoked, wasn’t it?

I have not a single goddamn right or reason to complain about anything.

And yet, here I am, huh? How far did that birth into fortune get ya?

So why am I even trying to balance online friends and college preparations?

 

… what the fuck did I just type down?

Breathe, you idiot, breathe.

 

What you typed above isn’t true.

You’re worth forgiving. A couple repeated mistakes doesn’t take your privilege of adolescence, or adulthood, away.

You have time. You have chances to try again. You have friends who care.

 

I thought we’d already shoved the ‘traumatic childhood’ aside. It doesn’t have to be a part of you.

 

You’re alright. You’re okay. You’re still worth the love.

You’re normal.

Trust me, the minute you graduate and get a college dorm, you’ll probably be as normal as it gets.

Breathe. It’s okay.

 

Hey. 

I’m proud of you.


	60. Noun

Everything’s a noun.

Everything that humans have amounted to… nouns.

Our towers…. Tower: noun.

Our societies… Society: noun.

Our languages… Language: noun.

Our words, our communications between nations and people…. All the words in that sentence and too many others… they’re all nouns.

Adjective: noun. Punctuation: noun. Word: noun. Noun: noun.

One day the languages we use to describe life, the universe, and everything… it may be as decayed as Latin, as forgotten as Moloch.

Then we’ll have nothing left to record what our existences were.

We’d be… all for nothing.

… and yet… fuck it.

We do what we want anyway, despite how long it won’t last.

We write down opinions and stories, we create ideas and objects, we teach of what we’ve lost and aim for… all because we just feel like it.

Reality is a bitch, and we flip it off every time we wake up and get something done.

We’re nouns… subjects… subjects of our own existences, not investments of what the universe wants.

I mean, Mommy Earth would’ve ditched us if she had the goddamn ability to, considering we piss her off one too many times.

We’re masters of the worlds, of our own minds, constantly collaborating collateral damages we enjoy striking.

It’s an illusion we’re happily believing in just to shit on reality.

And I don’t have any problems with smiling at it, laughing with my friends, ignorance and artistic drive.


	61. The Sound of Someone

I hear you deepening your voice a little to sound more like the man you're portraying, and I think I almost heard you taking up his accent. I wonder how you'd sound if you had taken the testosterone treatments before you had recorded your readings of your own paragraphs of a high school couple's reunion. I can hear the white background being more faint than the last time you had made a podfic, again with two deeper-voiced males in its plot, and I think of how far you'd went since then.

You had written your own stories and alternative worlds beforehand, your voice being documented in a different format. I'm not choosy of which area you speak in, though, as it seems every interaction I've encountered with you has been lovely. Most of the time, I hear you through your writings, your paragraphs and verses meant for the pleasure of yourself, and those were the most intimate yet one-sided conversations I've had with you. You had written of your own Arins and Dans, your Alexes and Rylands, of your true tales and influences, both upon and from you. You had written your fair share of poetry, and quite frankly, it was of your verse ficlets of a man much like you against the forces of a past gender much like you, that I could tell you were too unique for me to leave.

I hear your voice switching to a higher tone, speaking as a narrator again, and it somehow subconsciously soothes me further. It's selfish of me to think this way, but the higher pitch feels like you're talking to me again. I almost hear you reciting the poem of a writer hurt by the famous, reading the tragedy of Ozymandias, speaking the advice of a man centuries past. I almost could hear your messages of mocked European gentleman in an olden English whenever I would ask of retiring hours. But you switch your tone and you've become Dan again, and I follow you along his confessions of how his old boyfriend's leaving damaged him for years, happy to associate a tale I remember reading from the Archive with one more piece of you.

I press the play button of the podfic again and again. It becomes a coping mechanism of hearing you over a story, a wanton instinct to feel your presence and avoid another turmoil of loneliness. You have no idea of how many times I'd played your poetry readings again and again to feel some company in the night when you aren't online to interact with otherwise. I play the recording again and try to make sense of how you've let me into your life, how you gift me with snail chatter, how you trust me to call me a friend. I play the sound again to soothe me, to remind me that this surreal companionship we've had isn't a daydream, that you aren't a character in a writing piece. You're a real person, who hopefully sees me as a real person, and you've made me happier by the days.


	62. Hey, I’m going to try pretending to be my ‘must-be-best-at-everything instinct’ for a bit.

I will win.

I will be the best.

I will show all I can do.

I will use the smartest tactics.

I will get through the finish line first.

I will have the last word, have the final say.

I will find no flaw or regret into anything I create.

I will run faster and more efficiently than everyone else I see.

I will give the friendliest feedback and the sweetest encouragements.

I will write the best sentences, combine the best adjectives and nouns together.

I will win.


	63. Sing Myself to Sleep

There's no music.

I should make some.

Fight the odd feeling in my head and uninvited weight in my heart.

Don't sing something with depressing lyrics.

Actually, Skyhill doesn't sound too bad.

Didn't warm up, but it's okay for now.

Breathe in through the mouth and feel the air in the gut.

Change the key as to fit your low range.

No one else is home so you can be loud.

Maybe I don't have to take the nap before we get on the plane.

I can probably fight the jet lag on the flight.

One of them is 15 hours so I may be able to sleep enough then.

You actually sound pretty good.

Maybe your voice grew with the nights of singing to soothe.

Almost every time, the melody took up all of you, shoving everything else to the side.

Then the song ends.

But you aren't ready to face the silence again.

The City As You Walk sounds good to continue this playlist.

Sing as loud and evocatively as you want.

You sound so well, so keep going.

Sing until you're calm enough to get off the bed, to start getting ready for the flight.


	64. Found Poetry: A Series of Me Practicing Poetry #3

**Roman Holiday by Halsey**

 

 ~~Could you imagine the taste of your lips~~  
~~If we never tried to kiss on the drive to Queen's~~  
~~Cause I imagine the weight of your ribs~~  
~~If you lied between my hips in the backseat~~  
~~I imagine the tears in your eyes~~  
~~The very first night I'll sleep without you~~  
~~And when it happens I'll be miles away~~  
~~And a few months late~~  
~~Didn't know where I was running to~~  
~~But I won't look back~~  
  
~~We'll be looking for sunlight~~  
~~Or the headlights~~  
~~Till our wide eyes burn blind~~  
~~We'll be lacing the same shoes~~  
~~That we've worn through~~  
~~To the bottom of the line~~  
~~And we know that we're headstrong~~  
~~And ourheart's gone~~  
~~And the timing's never right~~  
**But for now let's get away**  
**On a Roman holiday.** **  
**  
~~Feet first, don't fall.~~  
~~We'll be running again~~  
~~Keep close, stand tall.~~


	65. JFK I'm Jet-Lagged

Get me off this plane.

How much longer is this 15-hour flight gonna feel like?

I thought I'd sleep longer than 2 hours at a time.

Just guessing, I was wrong, and so unprepared.

Kids are screaming again.

Lady behind me is still sleeping, so reclining my chair for another nap isn't an option.

Maybe I'll be more cheerful when I'm finally in New York.


	66. Aaand I'm on the van to Milford.

It's all just... big. Really.

And grey. Grey colours, dark tones everywhere.

And I appreciate how most of the attendants are African-American. And then I get to the immigration counter and... all the officers are white.

They had a Pac-Man arcade machine. A genuine Namco one. There was a nice guy having lunch nearby who asked if I was gonna play it. But I didn't have a quarter then and the van to get us to the hotel was waiting so... I left.

The minute I walked outside, it was cold. Really cold. Fucking cold. The two or three layers I was wearing wasn't enough.

And then I got in the van. It was warmer in there. Not warm enough, but still.

Which is also where I see all the bigness and greyness of the houses and truck near the highway.

By the way, their trucks were really fucking big. Really big. REALLY big. The big red truck driving beside our van was... something.

But the trees were pretty. They were lovely in their autumn colours.

It's just... things are pretty big and cold here.

... I'm falling asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for the Chronicles of Some Foreigner Makes Fun of America.
> 
> Oh, wait. Has everyone else done that already?


	67. After 31 years of living in South Arkansas, I finally moved up to the big city:

Connecticut.

America.

Hotel room.

Legitimately it's a B and B room.

America.

… huh.

This is real.

This is fucking reality.

Who’d have guessed it?

Who’d have called that I’d get this far?

Who’d have imagined me getting into an academic competition?

Who’d have thought that some girl in a Malaysian Chinese school would end up here?


	68. Big. Everything's big. Really big. And that's what she said.

Welcome to America, land of the big.

Big airports, big trucks, big roads, big buildings, big houses, big trees.

Enter small me.

This is gonna be interesting.


	69. Wait, I'm in New York now?

I'm not feeling anything.

I'm just... nothing's coming.

The feeling of 'I'm in America and in New York' hasn't hit me.

Or at least, it's not hitting me as strong as I expected it to.

I'm not amazed. I'm not tearing up over how I've gotten to this famous country, this popular city.

Even as I'm standing beside the north pool with names of September 11th victims carved in steel encircling it, I'm still numb.

I'm not feeling sorrow or melancholy or pity for the losses from 16 years ago.

Is this what dissociating is? I don't really think so.

Just... I'm in a Shake Shack and still feeling nothing but warmth from the cold.

I feel nothing other than the burn from the amounts of walking in the cold air outside.

I sense only me chewing a hot dog, because apparently I couldn't trust their burgers until I've had a bit out of Sis'.

I just... it's just my body reacting right now.

My head should be kicking. And it's not.

What the hell's up with me?


	70. Willful People

> The arrogance of belonging is not about egotism or self-absorption. In a strange way, it's the opposite; it is a divine force that will actually _take you out of yourself_ and allow you to engage more fully with life. The arrogance of belonging pulls you out of the darkest depths of self-hatred - not by saying "I am the greatest!" but merely by saying "I am here!"
> 
> -Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear

 

There are so many brave people in New York. It must be the promotion of creativity they have here.

I see it in a comedy dance group in Times Square.

I sense it in an improvisational performance duo making fun with passer-bys. 

I hear it in a mother and daughter advising a man to not announce that the end is nigh. 

They don't back down, they don't show fear.

I'll be as brave as them someday, I know that.

But I'll need some more time to prove so.


	71. Dear Arin, Wendy's isn't THAT good.

There are... a lot of brands around here.

I'm pretty sure there was a second Stop and Shop beside the highway.

And I saw a construction area nearby the river with Trump Links written with grass cuttings.

Damn it.

There sure are amounts of brands out to fight each other in America.

Oh, look, Cracker Barrel.

What's the big deal with that, anyway?


	72. Normalcy is Overrated

People really liked categorizing how manly or girly people were to be.

Not that it’s fully gone, though.

I see it in the hotel staff’s uniforms, the strangers in the streets, the makeup on a friend’s face.

I sense it when Sis tells me she’s texting her boyfriend.

I see it start to dissipate in the auditorium of the college music hall.

Maybe it’s because we’re all too adrenalized on college and seeing mutuals again.

I don’t sense the cis-ness as much here.

Which is good, as we need this equality to be good participants in this.

I take a last breath in as I sit down, anticipating the start of the Tournament of Champions.

Man, World Scholars Cup, never getting any duller every time the opening ceremony begins.


	73. Connecting-cut (or Memes but they're stale and based off a trip to the mall)

Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass and I'm anxious.

 

Guy getting tomatoes: met

"College kids?": asked

Reply: Uneasy "sure"

I am forcibly removed from the $8 fusion buffet salad bar.

The lettuce wasn't even fresh.

 

In an Uber. For four young girls. With a white guy with an unnaturally cheerful tune. Making a wrong turn. Down a dark road of houses. We're gonna get kidnapped.

Never mind. Bryan was a nice guy after all. We got to the hotel safe.


	74. Let's Go

Okay, peanut butter crackers for dinner doesn't sound too bad. Not the healthiest, but I'm on a budget. Either, way it that's not enough, there are cookies you saved.

Now let's get this last-minute-though-I-legitimately-had-no-time-to-do-it-due-to-having-to-follow-the-whole-group-shopping-because-three-out-of-eight-people-wanted-to essay.

And be sure to sleep early. We need to be up cheery for the challenge, debate, and essay.  

No need to freak out. Your teammates from another Yangn school are nice. You met up with them for a while and they seem as hyper-scared as you d, and they're pretty smart. You guys will pull through.

Try not to get distracted, too, so opening an old Game Grumps playlist may help over Spotify songs.

Though I had fun shopping today. I found a Target and a Hot Topic, and I saved up four merch shirts for years. I definitely don't regret going.

Also, it's still funny that you got mistaken for a college student more than twice.

Damn, there are a lot more nice people in America than I initially thought.


	75. Defenses Down

Going to bed would be nice. That's what you do when you're tired.

But finish crying first.

You're kinda weak in the head, and body, when you get to bed.

No need to feel bad about that. That's just what the body does when it's resting.

Finish crying first. Blow your nose. Preferably not that loud as to not wake Sis up. You know she's grumpy enough awake as it is.

Reply to the people who're telling you it's okay to cry, even if you have no particular reason to be sad. Thank them and don't hold back on being sincere and honest with them.

It's okay to be weak now. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to be tired at 12:42 AM.

It's okay to go to someone for help.

And I'm proud of you. You went to the right kind of people for help for the situation. And you didn't hold it in and hurt yourself to sleep.

Also those people online are so nice. And caring. And loving. Maybe all the kind words you said to them throughout the months was worth something.

Or they're just really caring people.

Probably the latter.

Also, congratulations, you've learned something new today: reading fics to make yourself feel something when numb is a form of self-harm. Try not to do that again, okay?

Hey, you finished crying now. Now, you're still a little weak in the head, and very much vulnerable.

Let's go back online to calm down a bit. Maybe you can interact with the people who helped you tonight?

Or today? Hard to tell when it's past midnight.

Also try to get to bed fast. The breakfast closes at 9, I think.

By the way, drink something water. Your mouth's getting dry.

And so is your skin. Get the lotion.

Damn, it's cold in this darn state.

Okay, I know that breaking down in a hotel room with your sis in her teammates' room wasn't the plan.

But hey. I'm proud you got through it.


	76. I'm Just a Kid

I'm just a kid.

I'm just a kid, confused as to so many factors of the world.

I'm just a kid, sheltered physically but paying the price for sticking my head out the windows.

I'm just a kid, who won't be a full human until a number of years alive increases.

But yet, I'm still a child.

I'm a child, exploring the town park like a new country.

I'm still a child, throwing a handful of orange and brown leaves in the air with one hand whilst the other hides from the late autumn wind.

I'm still a child, giggling as she watches the dried leaves float to the ground while a nearby adult watches in joy.

I'm still a child, who shouldn't rush to grow up.

I'm still a child, who still has time on her side.


	77. Guys. Holy shit. They DO give fortune cookies. And their taste is weirdly addictive?

A dose of adversity is often as needful as a dose of medicine.

How about another fortune? SecondFortune.com

Lucky numbers: 35, 26, 56, 10, 32, 52


	78. Thin Blue Glittering Alpaca

You were an exchange.

You were requested to be traded for a shining black alpaca.

You were disregarded by another scholar possibly due to your colour and size.

You may not have been in their favorite shade.

You probably weren't at the right fluff ratio for them to cuddle.

You don't disappoint me, however. You definitely can't.

You have fur as blue as the early evening sky, the sun departing to invite the twinkling stars and the night before a new day. 

You are thin enough to hold under my arm; if not chubby and soft to cuddle, you make a great companion to walk with.

You have the same worth as every other alpaca stuffed toy being passed to every scholar in this auditorium.

You come as their symbol of learning in joy over the marks on school tests, their mascot of their international organization.

You came into my embrace after hours of adrenaline-filled discussions with my teammates over which alphabet letter to press on a clicker.

You can't disappoint me at all, as your warm wool brings back some light to me.

You come to me from days and nights of panic, stress, and urges to yell and tear at myself. 

You were adopted by me, bringing calmness to the both of us.

You are imperfect, you're unlikely.

You are a wonderful being, capable of a new life.

You may have a past behind you, maybe churned out a factory.

You won't be rejected this time, as I'll keep you in my embrace here.

You seem to seek a new life, a refresh, and so do I.

You can keep me company whilst I try to restart, and I'll hold you in your doubts.

You need a beautiful name for all this. One that means 'rebirth,' one from the land of globalization and unique normalcy.

You like the name Anastasia? It sounds lovely for you. I hope you love it too.


	79. Plastic Rose

I asked her for directions to Woolsey Hall.

I trusted her, and then she asked for my charity.

I tried handing her my macaroni and cookies from the hotel.

She said she needed money for a large pizza to supply her kids and herself for dinner.

She said her husband had left she hasn't got employed yet.

I gave her the last of my spare change in dollars, oddly 14 bank notes.

She gave me two things in return: "Jesus loves you" and a single plastic rose.

Maybe I should've recommended selling her white faux-leather handbag.

Maybe I should've waited longer for other scholars to follow to the hall.

But I hope she enjoyed the large pizza.

My hot chocolate went colder for her sake.


	80. I'm not saying this is a good way to look at the concept of validation, but it's AN opinion.

I can't trust myself most of the time.

I don't know how to interpret the thoughts in my head sometimes.

I won't rely on my own inner voice in dire cases.

 

That's why I need you.

That's why asking that you say that I'll be alright so I can confirm that has been a habit.

That's why I trust you more, that I think you guys would know me better than what I am in negativity.

 

It sounds better when you give me the goal.

It sounds better when I improve myself in your name.

It sounds better when making myself calmer means you joy.

 

Please be patient with me while I figure myself out a little more.

Please be patient with me when I ask to send a text of positivity without excessive capital letters.

Please be patient with me as I try finding a way to repay you for saving me, because I trust you too much to want to abuse you.


	81. Take Care of Yourselves

The people I love the most will have people they love the most, and those people will never be me.

It’s fine, though. It’s more than fine, really.

I’m not being sarcastic.

Please do meet more people. Please do find joy in as many people as possible. Please do make your own path, even if it’s far from my own.

If we ever depart ways, it’d be sad but somehow beneficial. You’d find more people similar or better than me, and pull find more happiness, more accomplishment. if you leave me or I leave you, which I’m never planning to do, life goes on.

We grow stronger, despite the negative aspects of life. We pick each other up and cheer each they onward.

You’ve helped me grow so much. You’ve made me learn and re-learn so many beautiful things. You’ve let me become who I am and can be, and your faith becomes my fuel.

Let me help you in your own dark times. It’s the least I can do.


	82. To Cheryl and Nicole

I found you guys again after so long.

From the moment we met again within the music hall lobby, there was so much I wanted to tell you.

I wanted to hold you, hug you tighter for much longer than all the days of the program combined.

I wanted to tell you of the time I played Switch demos at Target, and definitely sucked.

I wanted to tell you of the hassle of school and this Tournament.

I wanted to ask if you've ever questioned yourselves like I have.

But I understand that there's so much you guys had to tell me, too.

I still smile at you gushing about a new Fire Emblem crush and how depressing your hotel view was.

I think back to you squealing over hugs from Chauncey when receiving multiple medals tonight.

I can't judge you. Of course I can't. I've had been through worse than that with little less joys.

So leave the existentialism to me. Leave the delayed sadness to me.

Hell, just give me all your sorrows. I can't bear to hear of your sufferings.

So please, hit me up again about how Toon Link and Mario Galaxy are the best things.

Maybe we can discuss some new games that come around.

Set up a time to meet back in Yangon?

Because even here in the bus back to the hotel, after a wondrous awards ceremony, I miss you guys.


	83. I'm a little scared.

I'm scared of going back in that hell-long Cathay flight.

I'm scared of going back to Yangon.

I'm scared of going back to Mom and Sis.

I'm scared of going back to the school cycle, not that it wasn't bad to begin with, but still. I have a lot of shot to catch up on.

I'm scared of not seeing WSC friends for so long.

I'm scared of what troubles we'll have to go through to have our independent WSC delegation tun somewhat smoothly.

I'm scared of whether running to online friends for help will have a backlash.

I'm scared of things I don't have to even worry about.

I'm scared of now and tomorrow, but... at least I have a handful of yesterdays to smile upon.

I'm scared, but I won't be in a while.

I'm scared, but that's okay.

I'm scared, but it's will be easier after a deep breath of two.


	84. On Today's Episode of "Goddamn Immigration Queues..."

I wanna go back.

I don't wanna deal with Mom in the morning, or the night after work.

I don't wanna go back to school and have the odd regrets of not savoring the time away a little more.

I don't wanna deal with... shit.

I wanna go back.

I wanna go back to the annoying and slow immigration queue.

I wanna go back to where I don't need to do anything other than stand.

I wanna go back to where I have good reasons to be on my phone and online.

I wanna forget I have things to do in the morning.

But I guess I'm here, out the immigration counter, out the airport, out the car home and in my bedroom again.

I wanna sleep and forget about this.

I don't wanna think about it anymore.

But I know that I'll somehow manage, just not now.


	85. HOW'D I SLEEP FOR 14 HOURS FUUUUU-

I wonder how I can spend the next 6 hours or so. 

... yeah I should catch up on finishing that fic draft.

**Do your work first.**

Aww...... but I've already finished a lot of work today.

**You did not do them all yet.**

But I already did a lot more than usual. I wanna take a break.

**But do you need it?**

... no. I browsed Tumblr a fair amount.

**So you see why it took so long?**

Aww... but come on! I've been staring at this draft with no idea how to continue it!

**_Do your work first._ **

... fine. One last assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the drafts I was talking about was this: https://musicalravencreates.tumblr.com/post/166606334106/vziii-she-always-remembered-every-piece-of It's really short, so it won't take too much of your time!
> 
> Oh, here's one more thing I'm proud of. vziii.tumblr.com/post/168257157079 Also short, also is centered around having different coloured skin.


	86. Re-Learning Things (or Tuesday Morning)

I can sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and have problem going back to sleep.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes get on my phone to distract myself from thinking about something too deeply in the silence.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes get hungry real quick.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes stay up until 3 am, and on rare occasions, 4.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes monitor my sleep schedule and work completion rates.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes be very strict on myself, in some cases to make myself a happier person or in the name of how others perceive me.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes get very anxious about interaction with others, online and offline, of whether I said the right thing at the right time.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes panic over the past, but for the most part I worry about the future and what I can do then.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes put too much responsibility on my friends to have me out these mindsets, even if I don't explicitly let them know.

I wasn't aware of that before.

I can sometimes catch myself falling down the self-depreciating pit just before I don't see the surface anymore.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes throw down a rope long enough for me to catch, to stop descending any further to than I need to.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes climb back up on my own, but there are times a willing person pulls the rope upwards.

I knew that before.

I can sometimes put down the fear of whether the person minds me reaching out to them, cry for help and pay my gratitude a afterwards.

I'm still telling myself that.

I can sometimes be weak, and very much reliant on others wiser and stronger than the girl in the pit, but it's not something to be ashamed of or place on my character bio.

I'm still telling myself that.

I can sometimes get back on the ground and find my balance, preferably with others' aid.

I think I like that lesson.


	87. I needed this.

I have to tell myself that it's okay.

I have to teach myself something new:

Melancholy and nameless sorrow don't get solved overnight.

It's okay to not know why I'm crying one night in a bed-and-breakfast.

It's not healthy to purposefully make myself feel something to escape numbness.

It's alright to have a weight in your chest the days after the tears, as like yourself, the negativity wants a good fight.

People understand.

It's okay to keep going back to them for help.

There's no need to try to cover up your problems when your friends ask to help you.

Reaching for them for days is not hypocrisy as long as you let them know you'll be there for them in return for their storms.

It's okay.

You're okay.

You're not destructive to anyone.

You're a beautiful person, like you say to your friends.

As much as you want to raise them up, they want to see you smile, too.

So please love yourself a little more.

Please lower the standards you hold to yourself.

Others saw how much of a person you are, so you owe it to yourself.

It'll be alright.

Also, I'm quite sure that if amounts of people have been soothed by gazing at GIFs of a smiling Arin, then I can too.

Sounds healthier than biting down on your skin.


	88. Things I've Learnt in America

\- I accept Barnes and Noble as my lord and savior.

\- CVS is basically an upgraded Guardian and Watson's.

\- Oh yea, their food IS kinda tasteless. Other than Boston clam chowder. That's the tastiest shit, especially out in the damn cold town.

\- At this rate, I'll take the airport over the airplane any day now.

\- You're not supposed to fully toast a bagel. Make it soft. Make it flow with cream cheese. They get kinda dry when cold.

\- This place gets aroused from branding and cash-draining, probably.

\- All the merch stores. ALL THE MERCH STORES!!

\- Why are all their food portions so big? They weren't kidding about their Chinese food. I mean, it tastes genuine, so that's good, but still.

\- You'd think the first-world country would have higher levels of technology. No. Treat all your countries equally and with the same standards. Even their politics. Maybe not politics, actually. And know that communist countries can be really good and developed. I mean, look at Vietnam. They're doing pretty well, as far as I can say.

\- Thank fuck TSA didn't have to pat me down or strip-search me.

\- David Bowie sounds like Hong Kong oldies songs. Wait, maybe it's the other way around. Bowie came first, I think.

\- I have to say, no one advertises New York better than Barry Manilow.


	89. I miss being innocent.

I feel that there’s a lot of pressure to growing up.

Asia believes that wisdom and knowledge come with age, so the elderly are the highest in society and they can’t be wrong.

Westerners I’ve come across say being a young adult is the best thing you could be, that they have the power to media and entrepreneurship.

So maybe that’s why everyone in school is trying so hard.

We wanna show that we are the people who grow up fastest, who become the coolest teens.

If we hit Sweet 16, it’s the jackpot, according to what I’ve been hearing for years. Getting to the 18-year-old mark is perfect, additionally.

I don’t think I’ve escaped that mentality yet.

I think I’m trying to be the wisest in class, the most satisfied with my mindset and age.

And I think I’m taking matters a bit too seriously, as if I’m some employee who can’t risk being fired.

And I’m just 15.

And there’s so much out there that takes more brainpower and heart-strength to comprehend.

So, really, I have to start cooling my jets.

And really, someone please carry me up and give me a piggyback, please.

… also pedophiles, don’t interact. I swear to fucking Christ.


	90. The Words Return

They come in the silence, in the calming dark.

They follow in lines of sentences, queues of somehow visualized letters.

They seem to be out of originality in their 'you're weaks' and 'ducking idiots' tonight.

But their pronouns and adjectives have no meaning, no definition, if you don't give them that privilege.

I open the safe of it's okays and you're overthinking its until they seem to quiet down.

See, they never die, never go extinct.

They never have since they were first introduced to me.

But I can deal with them.

I can push them aside.

Some days I need another's help to do so, but that's alright.

They quiet down after a good breath or two, if I'm fortunate enough.


	91. Good Evening, Ladies and Gentlemen, and of course, All Other Configurations of Being.

Welcome back to the show, ladies and gentleman! I’m your host, Confused, and now we’re just about to see what answers to the challenge our contestants are going to choose. Let’s review our contestants’ strategies:

"Good day. I'm Head over Heart, and I take the time to rationally think over each of my choices before initiation, even if it takes much willpower and stress to so."

**"Hi, everyone! My name is Heart over Head, and I always go with my gut feeling! I may not be the smartest, I may be damn fickle, but I'm most considerate towards myself and others!"**

_"Sup?! I'm called Decision Now, and I make all my decisions fastest. Call me Instinct or Impatient, but I'm the speediest guy around to get the problem solved soon as possible!"_

> "Hello! My name's Decision Later, and either through careful thought or fast guess, I leave my problems to be solved later. At times, I'm not wisest or strongest to take care of the issue in the moment, so I leave it for the better me to deal with, thus most likely getting the better results!"

And now, the solutions to the challenge. This may have one lucky contestant take it all tonight, folks!

[pros/cons, ex. Pro: she’s known you all your life, Con: she has the experience of only a handful of people]

Do Nothing (yet)

Trust family over Anyone

Trust Self over Anyone

Trust Peers over Anyone

Remember, chaps, that we’re asking for the most rational, appealing, and beneficial decision. Hint hint, the judge has a favoring for what gets the popular vote!

Contestants, what are your choices?

I choose Trust Peers over Anyone, for it means I can have more opinions and experiences on the table in the event that I can then tell which is best to follow.

**"I want Trust Self because , but I also want Trust Mom because she knew me all my life. Sometimes, though, I think she's not the best because she only has known how to live through her own eyes."**

_I'm gonna go with Trust Peers, since relying on one or two people doesn't seem wise. Though, in order for this to work, I'll have to find a balance between being honest with my peers and ensuring that I don't overshare._

> I have chosen Do Nothing, because there shouldn't be a rush to make a decision. Besides, I can then hear all sides of the table, family and friends, in due time.

And now, ladies and gents, the moment when it all comes down: which decision will the judge pursue? Oh, the tension is rising, folks?

Aww… looks like Heart over Head is having yet another heated discussion with Head over Heart. Ooh, the drama is arising! Watch how Heart is spitting over Head, whose lips and eyebrows are so tight they may burst any moment!

Hopefully we’ll see how they resolve their answers, folks!

But first, a few messages from our sponsors.


	92. Another Customer

> Online is a place for human contact but not intimacy. Online is a place for information but not reflection. It gives you the first stereotypical thought about a person or a situation, but it’s hard to carve out time and space for the third, 15th and 43rd thought.
> 
> \- David Brooks, How Evil Is Tech from the New York Times

 

Is it odd I've felt more confidence and company online?

Is it odd I've met more people I appreciate more through this?

Is it odd I've found more joys by stepping into 'unadvised' websites?

Is it odd I've gained more knowledge and wisdom for the world from Tumblr?

Is it odd I've spent more time contemplating myself midway through my dashboard?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, I proudly present: a parallel. To What I Am from early on in the book. Don't worry, I didn't plan this; I just kinda noticed I had two conflicting chapters.


	93. Slap the Bed for Power!!!

My body just walked into the dark room and lied down on the bed, knees upon the edge and back against the horizontal mattress.

My eyes just stare up at the ceiling before falling with the rest of my head upon its left side.

My mind draws a blank before pondering if I'm really alive.

Something my parents said about never taking life for granted begins to echo in the dark blue room.

My body curls up into a fetal position while my mind says I've gone against all my parents teachings: don't be a brat, don't trust strangers, don't take life for granted...

My hands clench in frustration and itch to take it out on something solid.

My mind says hitting the wall will just hurt.

So my fingers spread wide and smack the bed.

... my mouth thins into a smile?

But the rest of the body wants to lie back down.

My mind says I have to get up before dinner gets cold.

It tells my hands to slap the bed again for motivation.

I find both mind and body go silly with banging the mattress, laughing softly but undeniably in some childish joy.

My torso rises and I'm sitting upward, soon on my knees.

I still find myself giggling like an idiot.


	94. I smell the love of books in the morning- I mean, I love the smell of books in the morning.

The whiff of the pages don’t come with an exact label.

The words of the scent spill out inside my mind.

It smells like past years, like 7th grade and a Renaissance painting in a textbook.

It smells of slow learning, like storybooks that taught me human interaction subconsciously.

Now I could add a new noun for the nostalgia.

Now I could call the smell by “A Streetcar Named Desire” by Tennessee Williams.

I hope old American Grandpa teaches us of this play better than he did Chopin's novel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TENNESSEE WILLIAMS WAS GAY HOLY SHI-


	95. ...oh.

I have to save face.

I have to look good to my colleagues.

I could lose my job.

Think twice before you defy me.

There are only three of us in this family.

Don’t ever lie to your mom.

The minute you hide something from me, you hurt this family.

Don’t take things lightly.

Reputation.

Reputation.

Pride.

Pride.

Pride.

So is that your real name?

And all this time I called you ‘must-be-best-at-everything’ instinct.

So, Pride, I give more trust to a 17-year-old girl in Germany than I do to my own mother.

I’ve had nicer conversations to an Andy than my dad, who probably is transphobic for all I know.

I give more hugs to the damn housemaid than my own sister.

Whatcha gonna do about it?

Make me reconsider my friendships?

Make me distance myself from everyone else but my biological family, most of which aren’t in the same country as me?

Well, think about it. If I break ties with my friends now, online and offline, that would make me lose face.

I’d be thought of as depressed, or actually antisocial, or worst, suicidal.

And that’ll hurt you, wouldn’t it?

So yeah. Save yourself some face and at least play pretend, act like a good friend who has multiple flaws like them so they don’t get suspicious.

And while you’re at it, let me have the fun here. You’ve had your spotlight with my mom.


	96. Do you still like me?

Where’d I spawn in?

Why is the sky grey?

How am I driving in a car?

Who’s that in front of me?

Why is the person turning into a mob?

How’d both my online mutuals and school friends come together?

Where’d they come from?

How are their figures turning pitch black?

Why are they staring at me with evil smiles?

Where did they get all these papers they’re throwing at me?

Why are the words shoved at me remind me of something I wrote?

How did they find all my unpublished sentences of my NaNoWriMo project?

 

Am I awake now?

Is this real?

Was it all a fucked-up dream?

Is there some sort of foreshadow to all this?

Does this mean everyone I know hates me now?

Is there even a link between the dream and today?

Am I overthinking again?

… yeah, maybe I am.


	97. Found Poems: A Series of Me Practicing Poetry #4

** Dear Happy by Dodie Clark and Thomas Sanders  **

 

 

 

~~I know it's scary,~~  
~~But don't be wary.~~  
~~If we don't have that long,~~  
~~Let's not waste it feeling wrong.~~

  
~~This isn't the end.~~  
~~I'm your lifelong friend.~~  
~~Sure it's been a while,~~  
~~But I'll be here when you smile.~~

  
~~So don't try to fight it.~~  
~~I'm here for tonight.~~  
~~And I'll be waiting for you~~  
~~Until~~ we meet again.

  
~~Would you mind staying?~~

~~It's getting late, but I will visit you soon.~~

So just try to get through.


	98. Thank You

Thank you to @sunniapplepie, who took me in and made me know I have a place in Game Grumps fandom.

Thank you to @musicalravencreates, who helped me get better at both writing and developing great friendships.

Thank you to @perihelion-princess, who stays really nice to me despite how slowly we begin to know each other.

Thank you to @amirrorcalledthemoon, who supplied me with great shitposts and reassurance that we'll both be alright.

Thank you to @voidskelly, who subliminally inspired me to write again, both fanfiction-wise and poetry-wise.

Thank you to @aligrump, who sticks around despite how little we've talked.

Thank you to @sweetiefiend, who supported me in all the little ways and let me manage my outbursts.

Thank you to @thewordzombie, who helped me grow as a writer as I hope I assisted her.

Thank you to @ninjagirlemily, who said nothing but the nicest things to me.

Thank you to @yoshidrake_squidkid, who gave me one of the best two weeks I've had all year.

Thank you to @markiplier, who taught me that being a goof is more than acceptable in a mature person.

Thank you to @therealjacksepticeye, who kept me energetic and positive when my youngling self was kinda confused about what being a nice human was about.

Thank you to @gamegrumps, who let me laugh with them and learn what my mom’s lectures probably wouldn’t have even touched upon.

Thank you to @nanowrimo, who helped me build upon and showcase my efforts to write my opinions and reflectives out to my communities.

Thank you to @nivee, who still stands by me through all my adolescence especially when I needed a close companion most (and editing this whole typo-filled novel).

Thank you to @mom, who let me grow and stay in the house, no matter what stupid shit I say and think.

Thank you to @sis, who uh... I'll get back to you later.

Thank you to @theworld, who still let me live past natural selection, though other than that you couldn’t give any more of a shit about me.

Thank you to @people, who let me hang around and better yet, befriend so many of your population so I wouldn’t have to live in a well.

Thank you to @humanity, who gave me luscious illusions that I can have control over my own life as well as others. I promise I’ll make both lives as joyful as possible, since that’s what you’ve taught me.

Thank you to @vziii, who gave me a heard voice in places I was at first too shy and anxious to enter but longed to be in. I think we both had a ton of fun on our little online journey.

And thank you to @victoria, who despite everything, stayed herself and didn’t rage-quit that quickly.


	99. For The Road Ahead

Change is mostly meant to be a long journey.

Suppose that's called 'growth.'

It's meant to be over the course of days, weeks, months, years.

Any slower than that and the change is as irrational as mishandled puberty.

Growth is how a man discharged from the hospital and made well-produced video sketches.

Growth is how a stoner from Jersey found a great path in music.

Growth is how a boy in a cabin met and collaborated with his heroes.

Growth is how a girl improved her drawing skills.

There's a misconception of a rumored competition for how fast one can outgrow their peers.

After years of engrained time limits, one thinks it's almost mandatory to show all their accomplishments.

And it takes a while to acknowledge and grow past that bias, but when one does, it's invigorating.

The false truth will still float in the air, but now, they know it's there.

And I don't think I'm fully accustomed to the musk in the air yet.

So please be patient with me as I keep walking towards the non-existent finish line.

I'll try to stop by often to cheer the rest of you on.


	100. Huh. I actually made it this far.

> There are no happy endings, because nothing ends.
> 
> Schmendrick, The Last Unicorn film (1982)

 

November 30.

...huh. Today arrived. It actually came.

And I got to a goal for the year: getting my Nano done.

... it's not the best. C+, probably.

And uh... a bunch of drafts are waiting up for me. But at least I have drafts that aren't only for essays. It's been a while since that happened.

But even as this novel ends... well, I haven't.

I still keep the story going, and I keep living. I get to December, and maybe 2018.

And the ending, both to this and my life, it may not be the happiest.

But it's an ending.

Channel Criswell said something about how Hayao Miyazaki never made his films end like Western cinema does. The protagonist hasn't achieved everything they wish for, and the world may not have fully healed from the conflict before. But what is ensured is that the character arc has been satisfied, the single main conflict is resolved, and the credits roll after a happier and peaceful moment compared to the scene before. It's really an amazing touch of realism.

So... I guess I'm not fully healed. I will have these breakdowns again, and I will face bigger events in my life. Heck, maybe this condition would find a label, and maybe it'd get so much worse that it would absolutely need one.

But at least now I know that I don't have to rely on only the ones who stand around me. I know now that there are thousands online who go through the same things I do, and are truly willing to lend a hand. Some may be wiser, some may be more empathetic, but as long as the people nearby don't seem to help, I can rely on those online. 

My family isn't the end-all-be-all for advice and comfort. Hell, they didn't give me that much this year, last I checked. I wish they could've taught this at school and that maybe this would be advocated more, but I'm glad I got to know it before I fell too deep into negativity.

The world's full of so much more nice people than the news makes it seem.

And that's something I won't forget for a long time.


	101. Epilogue (or Sunset on the Hill)

5:15 pm had come upon the grassy hills, a handful of people upon each one.

They’ve all come for the sunset, the farewell of a day, good or bad.

We don’t talk much with each other, as we all want to have our silent moment of watching the sun dip into the landscape’s line.

 

Close your eyes, I think I can hear my mother seems to whisper, the sun is going down and the darkness will be scary.

But I’ve been on the hills for a decade and a half, and I know that disobeying this one request won’t have too harsh a consequence.

Because when the sun sets, and the applause of the sun’s departure is finished, we all commune with each other.

And after the years I’ve had to hold my parents’ hands as we walk down the hill immediately after and skip the party, I’m glad she goes home alone now at this hour.

 

The friends I’ve made in the darkness, the hours in the late nights and early mornings, they’re nicer than they’ve described ‘strangers.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta be real with you guys for another moment, if you'll allow.
> 
> The time when my friend Nivee and I were editing this, I've noticed that I was being a lot sadder than I really acknowledged. All the time I was writing this, I thught I was only venting out the smallest whines and brattiest words, but she helped me see that I did have more baggage than I'd like to admit. 
> 
> With that said, I wanna give a last piece of advice: your problems are still problems. Small or big, traumatic or not, they're still signs of smething going wrong, and thus will always need confrontation and amending for. Whether through a friend, a parent, a loved one or a fandom, find some sort of way to have yourslef back up. There isn't really a right way to do this, from what I've figured out when writing this, but there will be a hope, a better time ahead.
> 
> Thanks again for reading this, and have a happy new year, everyone!


End file.
